


Coffee, Tentacles, & Cigarettes (are all that you need)

by narvinektrolonum



Category: Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Eldritch, Gen, Narvin is actually a shithead, Narvin is fluent in Old High insults, Narvin is nonbinary and uses they/them, Pre-S1, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Xenophobia, complete and utter disregard for other lifeforms, featuring psychic chairs!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narvinektrolonum/pseuds/narvinektrolonum
Summary: "That fight, Narvin would assert, with that particular "best friend" had nothing to do with the formal reprimand they received after muttering a rather profane phrase in Old High in front of their boss, which would roughly translate to "an ineffectual blip of sapient matter steering this extradimensional nightmare". The extradimensional nightmare referring, of course, to the Celestial Intervention Agency, and the ineffectual blip referring to Vansell himself. After receiving an earful from the Coordinator, Narvin packed a bag and transmatted to Gryben. They knew the drill."Just another day of illegal temporal travel processing on Gryben for Sub-Coordinator Narvinectralonum. Set pre-Gallifrey, so Narvin is still a giant tool, just how I like him.
Relationships: Brax/Narv if you really squint and tilt your head
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Coffee, Tentacles, & Cigarettes (are all that you need)

Narvin stares, glassy-eyed and half dozing from the lack of imported coffee. They and Braxiatel aren't talking - a morality argument, again, so their preferred choice of stimulant isn't available. The alien in front of them squirms in its bindings. They aren't sure what backwater planet this one came from, and they're certain they don't care. Gryben is simultaneously the best and worst part of Gallifrey's nigh-monopoly on time-space travel.

"Which excuse are we going with this time, eh?" 

The alien coughs and tilts its head quizzically at them. 

"Oh, out with it already," they snap impatiently, "I haven't got all day. You were travelling via an unauthorized space-time vessel. Your ship has been diverted to this processing facility on planet Gamma Beta Delta/97/5. My question is, *why are you here?*"

The alien makes a clicking noise, unhinges its jaw, and lets out a low groan. Narvin groans along with it and pinches the ridge of their nose. 

"Fine. I see this is going nowhere. I'll let you rot in this cell while you mull it over." Narvin rises from their chair and psychically slams it back under the table they were seated at and exits the holding cell. Their communications device buzzes as the door closes behind them.

"Sub-Coordinator Narvin, this is Coordinator Vansell. Report," the comms device ekes out.

"Ah, Coordinator Vansell! Hello, sir. I've just exited an interrogation with another illegal space-time migrant," Narvin sucks up every ounce of annoyance and anger they have inside them and shoves it through a mental door labelled "FOR LATER RUMINATION". Getting mouthy with the greasy worm that is Narvin's boss is what landed them on Gryben in the first place.

"I hope you're enjoying it. I see that this one isn't vocal?" Vansell's slimy cadence sends hot licks of fury into Narvin's stomach. Today is not a good day for their self-control. Perhaps they'll go back to their rooms and drink the rest of the day away once their shift is over.

"It communicates in clicks and groans, sir."

"You're supposed to be a technical genius, Narvin, have you forgotten the obvious? Do you not have translators?"

"I've tried them, sir. They malfunction around it every time they're booted up. Reconfiguring them hasn't -"

"Oh, just torture the thing until it dies, then come back to Gallifrey. Our Lady President would like to speak with you."

"Hasn't she banned the use of the mind probe, sir?"

" _Get creative_ , Narvin. I know you're smarter than you act, and you certainly have more initiative than you've been displaying lately. Stop slacking."

"Yes, sir. I'll be on my way to Gallifrey as soon as possible."

"Goodbye, Sub-Coordinator." The connection crackles and the device emits a noise indicating the end of the call.

Well, shit. The calculating animal with a tail is out of the metaphorical bag, and Narvin's little lazy holiday on Gryben is swiftly shut down. Normally, this wouldn't be their first destination for a vacation, but they craved a little rest from Gallifrey's stiff upper lip. They didn't have to worry about licking someone's boot all day to keep their job, or to climb the ranks in their perpetual competition towards nothingness with their best friend from their Academy days...

That fight, Narvin would assert, with that particular "best friend" had nothing to do with the formal reprimand they received after muttering a rather profane phrase in Old High in front of their boss, which would roughly translate to "an ineffectual blip of sapient matter steering this extradimensional nightmare". The extradimensional nightmare referring, of course, to the Celestial Intervention Agency, and the ineffectual blip referring to Vansell himself. After receiving an earful from the Coordinator, Narvin packed a bag and transmatted to Gryben. They knew the drill.

Narvin clears their mind of the past as they access their personal item-cataloguing pocket dimension through the device on their wrist. It's their pride and joy, and has been in constant development since their youth. They scroll for a bit until they find the item they're looking for, and toggle it on for speed materialization. Summoning up the irritation they stashed away earlier, they set their face stonily once more, and prepare for a more enticing interrogation.

It's not that Narvin actively hates lesser species. They just think that they're largely irresponsible with time travel. They also don't agree with torture in most cases, especially not in a civilized society. This is Gryben however, and this incomprehensible alien was *joyriding across the Vortex*, Narvin, who is just doing their job, thankyouverymuch, hasn't had their caffeine in a few rotations of the sun. 

The poor bugger didn't stand a chance. Narvin isn't a stranger to inflicting pain on others - in fact, they're an expert at it. Their sharp tongue has been known to make their subordinates cry if they don't monitor what they say. They were trained to see through to someone's weak points and jab as hard as possible.

This, naturally, extends rather well to torturing criminals. They open the door to the holding cell and creep in menacingly. The alien stares at them, confused.

"Now, since you can't or won't communicate in any way we can understand," Narvin drones, "I've been authorized to use more...shall we say, *extreme* measures." Their eyes glimmer sadistically at the beast at the table as they materialize the item from their inventory and into their gloved left hand.

The alien eyes the item that has spontaneously appeared in its captor's hand with suspicion. Narvin grins ominously as they see the gears begin to turn in its head.

"This device in my hand emits electrical impulses from these four prongs, at a low enough level as to not kill you, but high enough so you can feel it course through you." They click a button, and electricity crackles from prong to prong. The alien's eyes widen with fear and it groans loudly once more. Narvin's grin widens as well, as the dark aura surrounding them grows. 

Oh, this is going to relieve a LOT of stress for them, if their other form is already leaking out a bit. Yes, that'll do before they have to go back to polite society and obey all its rules. No use being all eyeballs and anger among their stuffy kinsfolk.

"And thiiiis," Narvin drawls menacingly as they point out the pointy metal cone in between the prongs, "serves to puncture your flesh over and over again, so you can bleed out your useless lifeforce while your nerves are shot over and over again." The alien lets out a shrill shriek and tries ducking under the table. Its eyes begin darting between each of Narvin's sides.

"But to be honest...since you've seemed to notice the eyeballs and tendrils manifesting around me, I suppose this distraction was pretty useless, wasn't it?" Narvin's voice twists and distorts as they fully shake off their humanoid form and slip into their more comfortable, more horrifying mass of inky black tentacles and floating bloodshot eyeballs. They extend one tentacle towards the alien's face, which oozes dark splotches of liquid onto its face. It retches and sobs, shaking with terror in its seat. Narvin grasps the alien by the neck and slams it against the wall behind it. It whimpers in pain as all-seeing eyes draw near it.

"I will ask you one more time. Why were you travelling the Vortex without an authorization?" Narvin chatters their grotesque amalgamation of teeth as they ask, for added effect. They sense the aliens fear through the tentacle around their throat, and it stirs excitement and fervour in them. 

This form is depraved, and vile, and shameful. They know that already. It's not like other Time Lord's *don't* have this form, it's just that most Time Lords don't have to deal with the ramifications of the Celestial Intervention Agency ripping it awake with the mind probe over and over again until they end up killing the three agents overseeing their training. If torturing some hapless being who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time is what it takes to not kill everyone around them, then so be it. For the greater good, or whatever. Good and evil do not matter in this state. They never have.

The eyeballs surrounding the alien complete their scan of its mind. Sensing nothing relevant, no sentience, no coherent thought, Narvin laughs sardonically. It's a being of pure instinct, an animal that drifted across time and was dragged into their death. The thrill of the chase is gone, and is replaced with all the rage, all the annoyance they've pent up over the past few months. They bring to mind every passive-aggressive comment that's been said to them, hoping to drag them down from their rise to the top - which, they *will* see Vansell out of his office if it's the last thing they do - and strike their tendrils through the alien's body, draining it of its life force. Blood and entrails flood out from the gaping holes left, onto the walls and floor. A speck of blood lands on Narvin's form. It's a beautiful sight, really, and brings them the catharsis they need to return to Gallifrey.

They shudder and condense their matter back into their respectable humanoid form, coughing a bit as their respiratory system resolidifies. They quickly realize that probably took a bit longer than it should have and force themself upright, and take off to the transmat station before Vansell has the thought to call them up and chew them out some more.


End file.
